


Mother Dearest

by orphan_account



Category: Cinderella 2015
Genre: Death, Sad, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:30:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3978109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Queen Abrianna had been ill for three years now, ever since a third failed pregnancy - this time a miscarriage of twins. Kit had been told, at eleven, to prepare for her death. His mothers mortality, however, had not as of yet caught up with her. Some said it would have been a kindness on Her Majesty's part, to give up, for her husband and child's sakes. Kit had heard them. Few believed she would survive. Until recently, Kit had belonged to that minority.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother Dearest

Young Kit could barely force his legs to move as he made his way towards his mothers rooms, his heart aching. He knew what he would see, what would happen.

Queen Abrianna had been ill for three years now, ever since a third failed pregnancy - this time a miscarriage of twins. Kit had been told, at eleven, to prepare for her death. His mothers mortality, however, had not as of yet caught up with her. Some said it would have been a kindness on Her Majesty's part, to give up, for her husband and child's sakes. Kit had heard them. Few believed she would survive. Until recently, Kit had belonged to that minority. The King had insisted he only play in the Royal Gardens as a boy, where there were numerous servants able to keep watch over him. And his mother. She would, when she was able, have her attendants seat her by a long window that looked over the gardens - and sometimes she would even stand watch.

He had never been allowed to see her as much as he would have liked. At first the physicians hadn't understood what was wrong, and Kit was not even allowed to catch a glimpse of her until they knew for certain it wasn't contagious. Even his father knew they were being irrational, it was clearly nothing to do with disease of infection - at first. They eventually told him that she had a sickness of the mind, which he understood to me a dramatic interpretation of emotional abnormalities. And there was nothing they could do.

His tutor, Master Sauvon, had been reading him aloud a passage from 'The Prince', before the Grand Duke had opened the door to the cold, dull room. He often called on them during lessons, but then Kit had sensed something was off. The Grand Duke seemed almost sombre, as opposed to bristly. And he had lead him to the Queens Chambers, where His Majesty waited.

"Kit." His father had smiled, a weak - almost pained - smile. He extended his hand, and though Kit was thirteen and did not need a guide to his mothers room he still accepted it gladly. His father was reassurance, and warmth.

On the canopied bed lay his mother, her hairline beaded with sweat. He had seen her a week ago, and still she greeted him like she had not seen him for a long time at all. Her pale, tired face gained a small amount of joy and her dim eyes lighted up ever so slightly.

"Il mio Cristoforo." She whispered, reverting to her mother tongue. "My own darling." She stretched her hand out and wistfully stroked his face. "So big for one and ten." He had given up correcting her. He still remembered his twelfth birthday, how happy she had been for him - and the next day she had still thought him eleven. "Are you attentive to your language instructions, il mio doce?" His mother always asked him that. He recalled his father telling him he had wished her children would learn the languages of her youth, Italian and Spanish, when he had arranged for tutors to teach him French, Spanish, Italian, Greek and Latin.

"As best I can be." He answered truthfully. She laughed an airy, delicate laugh at that. And the she began to cough, and the physician swarmed her while other attendants pushed him away. His father had told him a while ago that his mothers health and declined sue to her state of mind, that her body couldn't fight off chills and they would develop into more serious ailments. His fathers face told him all he needed to know about his mothers health, even if he had already seen her with his own eyes.

"Il mio re, have you come to see me at long last?" She inquired between shivers, addressing her husband. "The children have missed you." She encouraged, speaking of the phantom twins she still believed resided within. That pained His Majesty more. Again, he had given up correcting her. Kit remembered being on hand when at first he attempted to explain the miscarriage. She had screamed and cried, though weak she was, and howled in agony.

"My Abrianna." He murmured, taking her hand. She wasn't his, however. Kit understood that, even if his father didn't. Their Abrianna had been beautiful, energetic, brave, witty and strong. Above all else, strong. His mother was a ghost of her past, just like his shadow siblings.

His earlier memories had her wearing her dark hair down, in dresses of deep red and black and white - the colours of her home. Those were the happiest, before the pressure of producing a spare became too much. She had laughed and japed and played with him, and laughed with the same youthful glee as he did.

They sat with her for hours, listening to her talking and responding as painlessly as they could. Still, she often became confused at little things - like the slight bruises Kit had that only just showed around his wrists. They were from fencing lessons, but she had insisted he was much too young for swords. "My little boy can not use a sword until he is twelve, I told you so myself." She informed him, but it had been two years since he was twelve.

Then her pain came back, and her breathing became more urgent. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and she was struggling for air.

"My love, I'm scared." She confessed to her husband, gripping his hand tighter.

"You'll be with the twins and our little girls." He promised, tears welling in his own eyes.

"I still carry them." She insisted. "They're with me." She didn't seem as confident now, now that she was going. She was losing hope, just as much as Kit was. "Frederick, look after our baby boy. Let him be happy, as we once were." And Kit, drawing closer to being motherless with each passing second, wept.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation, please note that I used google translate:
> 
> Il mio Cristoforo - Italian for "My Christopher" (assuming Kit is short for Christopher)
> 
> Il mio doce - My sweet
> 
> Il mio re - My King


End file.
